


Blood Drunk

by fingersins



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Explicit Consent, M/M, Porn With Plot, SIMON IS THE BEST TOP, Vampire Bites, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Sex, idfk how to tag things, just guys being dudes, plot that goes literally nowhere, simon basically propositions markus and markus is like damn ok, there's biting and blood and stuff ew gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingersins/pseuds/fingersins
Summary: “Have you considered my offer?”“Jesus,” The word slips out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop it and he looks at Simon in exasperation. “Is this what we’re going to do? You’re going to bring it up every night and hope it convinces me to let you snack on me like some all you can eat buffet?”Simon’s eyes flash with something hungry, and Markus can actually see his pupils dilate with want from across the table. A scalding heat settles in the pit of his stomach.“That depends…” Simon says, voice low and rumbling in a way that Markus can physically feel, despite the sweet smile on his face. “Is it working?”





	Blood Drunk

Markus isn’t sure how he ended up here.

 

Well, no… that’s not right. He knows  _ exactly _ how he ended up here, and it’s got a little something to do with the vampire sitting across the table from him, quietly considering the chess board between them. He supposes a more accurate thing to say would be that he doesn’t know  _ why _ he ended up here. 

 

A week ago, he had been hired by a… concerned party in the city. They were adamant that the coven just outside city limits had to be removed, by any means necessary. Markus was smart enough to know that by “any means”, they had meant that they preferred the deadly ones.

 

Ever since a fledgling of the coven (Jericho, they’d been calling themselves, because of the name painted on the side of the abandoned cargo ship they had taken residence in), had killed the daughter of a prominent politician in the city, the humans living there had been out for blood. Of course, Markus recognized the telltale signs of fear mongering. The people in power were doing everything they could to stoke the flames of terror that the people living within the city’s limits had lit. For all he could tell, any shows of aggression since the initial death of the young woman had come from the people he was being hired by.

 

He found it strange that Jericho hadn’t mounted any kind of retaliation to the aggression they’d been faced with. Of course, any teams that had been sent to Jericho to dispatch the vampires there hadn’t returned. Which, naturally, meant they had been made meals of… But Markus would say that was easily considered self-defense. 

 

But he wasn’t hired to ask questions, or wonder about the morality of the people hiring him. He was hired to do a job and, based on the information he’d been given, he had figured this would be an easy one. 

 

_ Stupid. _

 

He’d been told that the coven was small, only a handful of vampires, most young and still unsure of and unused to their abilities. Often, new vampires were dangerous because of their inexperience, but against a hunter trained as Markus was, they were no real threat, as long as he played his cards right. 

 

His main target was the coven’s leader-- Simon. From what he understood, Simon was the reason Jericho still remained. He was fiercely protective of his coven, and ruthless when it came to protecting them. Markus had heard stories, but wasn’t sure how many of them he actually believed because humans tended to stretch the truth to make their harrowing experiences more exciting. 

 

Markus’s first mistake, however, had been underestimating how protective Simon’s coven was of  _ him _ too. He’d underestimated just how hard they’d be willing to fight to keep Simon safe. They’d overwhelmed him, quickly, and the next thing he knew, he was in restraints in some dark cabin of the ship, unsure of what was going to happen next, but certain that it ended with him being killed. He’d tried to make plans of what he could do to escape if his chance ever came, but his options were slim and not very appealing. 

 

He’d all but resigned himself to his fate when the door had swung open and in had stepped a vision. Markus had been told what Simon looked like, been given rudimentary details of his appearance so he would know who his target was when he saw him. None of the description he’d been given had done Simon any justice.

 

Simon stepped into the room with all the grace Markus would have expected of his kind, but there was a ease to him where Markus had expected edges and harshness. His hair was soft against his forehead and his face gentle. There was still an intensity in his eyes, but it didn’t fit the image of the heartless killer he’d been sent here expecting to find. 

 

Simon had given Markus a look up and down and Markus swore he could physically feel his gaze against his body. He’d sat up straighter in his chair, then, if only so he wouldn’t betray how struck he was by Simon’s presence.

 

“So,” Simon had said, and his voice was soft in a way that still commanded attention. There was a lilt to it that had Markus tilting his head, as though he were trying to hear it better. Simon seemed to notice, if the way his lip curled was any indication. Markus saw a flash of fang and was slammed back into the reality of what, exactly, he was dealing with. 

 

“You’re Markus, aren’t you? The famous vampire hunter.” Simon stepped further into the room, hands at his sides, looking completely at ease, despite the fact that the man sitting before him had been sent to kill him. He fixed Markus with a stare so intense he can feel it like a weight on his shoulders. The smile on Simon’s face widened, and he looked much more dangerous as he held his hands out, looking around them, as though to gesture to the entirety of Jericho.

 

“Congratulations, you seem to have found what you were looking for.”

 

Markus felt his face twist into a frown and he twisted his hands in their binds. Simon tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

 

“He’s still restrained?” He sounded disappointed as he looked to the vampire standing behind Markus and to his left. She’d been angrily circling him since they’d forced him down and into this chair, venom in her eyes. Simon frowned at her when she huffed. 

 

“Simon, he’ll kill you the first chance he gets, we can’t trust him!”

 

“He has no weapons,” Simon said, waving a hand at Markus. It was true. They’d taken everything. Even his shoes. He was left sitting in his t-shirt and jeans. Unless North seemed to be under the impression that he hid a stake up his ass, he wasn’t sure how, exactly, she thought he’d be much of a threat right now. He hated to admit it, but acknowledging his current situation was the only way he’d get out of here alive. 

 

“That doesn’t matter! He--”

 

“North.” 

 

Markus saw North clench her fists mid-air, obviously frustrated with Simon before she dropped them and, with a reluctant sigh, turned to untie Markus’s binds. Confused, Markus brought his hands back around to his front, rubbing idly at his wrists. He glanced at North when she retreated to her place in the back corner, listening to her grumble beneath her breath and watching as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed petulantly over her chest. She gave him a look that promised death if he so much as tried anything, and he wasn’t sure it would be a swift one, based on the way her lip was curled. 

 

“I apologize. I had instructed to have you unbound nearly forty-five minutes ago,” The latter half of that statement seemed to be more for North’s benefit than Markus’s and he saw her roll her eyes in response before he turned to look at Simon again. He seemed to be waiting for a response and, unsure of what to say, Markus said the first thing that came to mind.

 

“Thanks?” 

 

Insanity. Thanking a vampire. A vampire he was here to kill. Was this a fever dream? 

 

“You’re confused,” It wasn’t a question. Simon’s tone had made it obvious. “I understand. I’m sure in your… line of work-” Markus heard North hiss behind him. Simon shot her a look and she quieted down. “I’m sure you’re not trained to expect any of this from our kind. I can’t blame you for that.” 

 

A strange look passed over Simon’s face. 

 

“But I’m tired of the violence. The death. It has to stop eventually, and if we don’t do something to stop it ourselves, it’ll only end with the destruction of my entire family. I won’t stand for that.”

 

“You pissed off the wrong man,” Markus said, leaning back in his chair in an attempt to make himself look less concerned with his current situation than was true. Simon didn’t seem to buy it. “That girl, his daughter-”

 

“Was an unfortunate loss of life,” Simon interrupted. “And completely unintentional and unexpected, I assure you.”

 

Markus was confused by this. He’d expected a band of vampires eager to kill any who crossed them. He’d seen it before, with other covens he’d faced. But none of them had attempted to dissuade or fight him with words. None had tried to convince him they weren’t beasts and murderers. The uncertainty must have shown on his face because Simon’s hard expression softened with a small smile. 

 

“You’ll understand, Markus.” 

 

One week later and Markus is set up in his own cabin in the ship, complete with a comfortable bed and a few small comforts. He’s not allowed to leave, but Simon comes every day and they talk. Markus supposes he  _ does _ know why he’s here, after all. Simon’s determined to make him understand that he and the rest of Jericho are not the angry monsters the people of the city will have him believe. Simon only wants his people-- his family, as he’s called them more frequently than not-- to have peaceful lives. 

 

“So, we don’t necessarily  _ hunt _ ,” Simon begins, continuing a thought now that he’d decided on his next few moves and picking up a bishop on his side of the board, moving it to it’s new place and then leaning back in his chair, fingers folded in his lap. Markus considers it for a moment before glancing at Simon again. “That implies that we pursue and kill prey to survive.”

 

The vampire is regarding him with a serious look on his face, one that Markus recognizes because it’s the one he wears whenever they speak like this. In the last week, Markus has learned that Simon is a thoughtful man. Simon takes all of this very seriously. If what he says is to be believed, he wants to disturb as little as possible. He seems to think Markus can become some kind of negotiator for their kind, determined to change Markus’s perception of vampires and how they exist in the world. Markus loathes to admit it’s working, but Simon is very  _ persuasive _ , if nothing else. 

 

“Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, and there are covens that exist outside of the boundaries that the rest of us have set for ourselves. We, however, take our meals from willing… donors.” Markus makes a face at the choice of words and Simon laughs. Markus pretends the sound doesn’t ring like an clear bell on a spring breeze in his ears and looks back at the chessboard. 

 

“Sorry,” Simon says, still chuckling. “I’m not sure I could word it in a way that would make you any more comfortable.”

 

“I don’t think you could, either.” Markus mumbles, considers his moves on the board. He sighs, Simon is probably going to beat him. Again. He reaches out to move one of his knights to take Simon’s bishop. Simon’s lip curls and he looks like a cat that just caught the canary and Markus knows he’s done exactly what Simon wanted him to. He leans forward, moves his rook and takes Markus’s knight. Markus curses under his breath and falls back in his chair with a frown on his face, giving up on his chance of winning for now in favor of focusing on the conversation.

 

“So, what you’re telling me is that you have an entire underground of humans who just…  _ volunteer _ to be fed on?” He knows there’s a sour note in his voice. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it. 

 

“Well, it’s not like they don’t get anything out of it,” Simon waves his hand, leaning back in his chair again and crossing his legs at the knee. He looks the picture of grace. Markus tries not to give him a once over like he wants to. He’s been caught doing it one too many times. He forces himself to focus on Simon’s face as he speaks.

 

“They’re paid for their time and blood. They only give as much as they want, when they want… and most seem to enjoy it. Quite a bit, actually.”

 

There must be a look of confusion on Markus’s face that he doesn’t realize he’s making because Simon raises his eyebrows. 

 

“Does that sound so impossible to you?”

 

“The idea of someone enjoying the experience sounds insane to me.” Markus says, leaning forward to regard the chess board again, but not before looking at Simon and saying, “Anything I’ve heard on the matter has been…  _ unpleasant _ .”

 

Simon tilts his head, seeming to be considering what Markus has just said with a look of bewilderment. Something seems to dawn on his face after a long silence, though Markus doesn’t see it, because his eyes are on the chessboard, desperately looking for some way to pull a win out of the ruins of his plans. He sees a promising move and reaches for his last remaining rook just as Simon speaks. 

 

“Have you ever been bitten before, Markus?”

 

Markus is so caught off guard by the question that he startles, hand jerking over the chessboard and knocking one of his pawns off the table. Simon leans and his hand darts out quickly to catch it with ease before it hits the ground. He holds it out to Markus, an eyebrow cocked, small smile curling at his lips. 

 

Markus swallows, suddenly nervous.

 

“No.” He says, reaching to take the outstretched chess piece, ignoring the brush of the tips of Simon’s fingers against his and pointedly avoiding his gaze as he places the piece back on the chessboard. 

 

Simon only hums in response and Markus thinks that’s the end of it because they fall into another prolonged silence, during which time he attempts to calm the nerves that have him bouncing his leg beneath the table. He tries to focus on the chess again, tries to distract himself with something that requires his focus and is almost successful until Simon speaks again.

 

“Humans who participate willingly seem to find it…  _ intoxicating _ .” 

 

The way Simon breathes the word has Markus’s heart leaping into his throat. 

 

He stares at the chessboard for a long time, saying nothing, but he can feel Simon’s eyes on him. When he finally gathers the courage to look, he finds Simon sitting across the table on him, gaze fixed very clearly on his throat and he knows the vampire can see the way his pulse stutters at the sight. Then, Simon’s eyes snap to his suddenly, and Markus feels pinned, like he’s got weights tied to his limbs. 

 

Simon’s still smiling that small, dangerous smile when he says, “Do you want to try it?”

 

Markus is a hunter. The question Simon poses should alarm him, put him on the defensive, ready to fight. Instead, his mind immediately conjures some…  _ vivid _ imagery that involves the closest flat surface and Simon’s hot breath against his throat. He grips the arms of his chair and Simon’s eyes dart to the movement, smile widening. He stands from his chair.

 

“You’ve never been curious?” 

 

Simon moves slowly, like he thinks Markus is a caged animal he doesn’t wish to frighten. Markus feels like one, his muscles screaming at him to look for something to defend himself with. But he doesn’t move. He just watches as Simon circles around the table, fingers dragging across its surface like a promise of things to come as he stares at Markus with a look so full of heat that he can practically feel it blooming across his skin. 

 

“You’ve never… wondered? What it feels like?”

 

“No,” Markus knows he answers too quickly to be believed, and his voice is tight and strangled. Simon arches an eyebrow again, looking amused.

 

“Now, Markus,” He positively  _ purrs _ Markus’s name, and Markus feels like he’s been shocked. “Based on the way you’re looking at me, I’m finding that a bit hard to believe.”

 

Markus is both alarmed and not surprised in the slightest when the sound of Simon’s voice goes straight to his dick. He bites down on his tongue and clenches his jaw in an attempt to distract himself with the pain, watching silently as Simon rounds the table now, coming to stand between Markus and the chessboard, leaning back against the table casually, as if he hadn’t just offered to turn him into a snack. Markus tries not to think about the fact that Simon is, in fact, standing between his legs, and is so close that he can actually smell his cologne. It smells expensive.

 

“Just for the experience, of course,” Simon says, fingers drumming innocently on the table they’re pressed to. He tilts his head. “So you know for a fact that I’m not lying… I imagine any information you have on the matter you’ve gotten from other hunters who were bitten against their will. Of course that’d be an unpleasant experience.” 

 

There’s a long silence and Markus says nothing, simply because he doesn’t trust his voice not to betray him.

 

“It’s a lot like…” Simon lifts his gaze to the ceiling, tilting his head back a bit as he seems to consider a suitable comparison and Markus swallows when he finds his gaze drifting down the expanse of Simon’s long, smooth throat. Then Simon tilts his chin down again, locks eyes with Markus and says, with a devious smile. “A lot like sex, I suppose.” 

 

Markus stops breathing for a moment and Simon’s smile melts into something so scandalous, he feels like he’s being undressed. 

 

“It’s a very intimate thing,” Simon murmurs, shifting just so and his leg bumps and rubs against the inside of Markus’s knee. Markus tenses in his seat. 

 

“If there hasn’t been consent from both parties, it can understandably be very upsetting and traumatizing…” A sad look passes over Simon’s face and it sobers Markus momentarily. Simon’s right, of course. Anything Markus had been told about the act had been from older hunters, who’d been bitten during a chase. Always as a means of attack, an attempt to kill, to take. He supposes, given the circumstances, Simon’s analogy makes sense. 

 

Simon must notice the way Markus relaxes a fraction of an inch in his chair. It seems to spur him into finishing his thought. 

 

“But when everyone involved…  _ wants _ it…” 

 

There’s a pause, heavy, and Simon seems to be considering something. Then, he’s reaching out, slowly. Markus’s eyes dart to the hand and Simon halts midair, waiting to see what Markus will do. After a long moment, Markus looks Simon in the eye again and Simon seems to take that as an invitation to continue.

 

Markus isn’t sure what he’s doing until his hand reaches out and then, suddenly, his fingertips are against Markus’s throat, a subtle pressure against his pulse. Markus’s instincts kick in and he stands suddenly, knocking his chair over in the process as he stumbles back and away from Simon, putting the length of the room between them.

 

Simon holds up his hands in a gesture of good will, his smile settling into something much more gentle and consolatory. 

 

“Alright,” He says, bending to pick up the toppled chair and the tension in the room eases like a weight off of Markus’s chest. Simon turns his head to look out the small porthole on the wall, realizing the time. When Simon turns back and fixes Markus with another look, there’s apology in his eyes. 

 

“I didn’t mean to cross any lines.” He’s silent for a moment and then turns away, crossing to the door. He pauses before opening it and looks back at Markus with a gaze so full of heat, Markus’s knees feel a little weak.

 

“The offer’s on the table, Markus. In case you change your mind. It’s your decision. I won’t take it from you.” He gives Markus a smile, and then pulls open the door. 

 

“Goodnight, Markus.”

 

The door swings shut behind him and the sound of the lock echos like a gavel delivering his sentence. 

 

Markus doesn’t sleep well when he finally crawls into bed after pacing his room for what feels like hours, attempting to distract himself from his own thoughts. When he finally closes his eyes, all he sees are the images his brain had been supplying earlier, and when he passes into sleep, they continue, in much more excruciating detail. He only manages to grab a few hours of uninterrupted sleep when he finally gives in, shoves his hand down his pants, and strokes himself to completion with thoughts of Simon and the imagined feeling of hot breath and teeth against his throat.

 

***

 

“You look like shit.” 

 

North is standing in his room, a tray of food in one hand and her other on her hip, looking positively put out. There’s fresh clothes on the table that she’s already set down. She’s either been put on human-watching-duty or she volunteered, though he can’t imagine why, seeing as she looks irritated to even be existing in the same space as Markus. He supposes she may have volunteered because she didn’t trust anyone to keep a close enough eye on him and was still certain he’d find a way to break out and kill everyone. 

 

“Good morning to you, too.” Markus grumbles, sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye furiously. 

 

“It’s 8PM, idiot.”

 

“Fuck off.” 

 

He looks up and North has set his tray on the table, looking almost impressed with his lack of restraint. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was getting on her good side… but he doesn’t know if North has one of those. He supposes he should give her some credit. She’s fiercely loyal to her coven, and seemingly willing to protect it - and Simon especially- no matter the cost.

 

The thought of Simon slam dunks a heaping of shame on his shoulders when he remembers how he convinced his body to sleep last night.

 

Markus forces himself to focus on the smell of coffee that’s drifted to his side of the room and stands, shuffling to the table. For a bunch of vampires that don’t eat food, they’ve certainly gone out of their way to make sure Markus eats well every day. He doesn’t know where the cooking happens here, but he supposes if they’ve fixed up the cabins all over the cargo ship into moderately comfortable bedrooms like his, they could have made other changes elsewhere. 

 

“Simon will be by later.” North says to him, just as she has every morning, like he doesn’t know the routine. He makes a noise of affirmation, in the middle of doctoring his coffee. When she doesn’t turn and leave as usual, he looks up, eyebrows raised, and finds her standing across from him, arms crossed against her chest. He gives her a look with a slight jerk of his chin, as if to ask if there was something else she wanted to say, but when she remains silent he sighs, shakes his head, and returns to his coffee. 

 

“What? Did you finally poison my food and you’re waiting for me to take a bite so you can watch me keel over with your own eyes?” There’s a scoff from across the table where North stands. 

 

“No, but I’ll file that idea away for later use.”

 

“Great.”

 

There’s another pause and, just as Markus feels himself growing annoyed, North says, “Simon is a good man.” 

 

Markus chokes on the first sip his coffee.

 

He looks up as North raises an eyebrow and reaches for the napkin on his tray, wiping his face and attempting to clean his shirt, muttering some bullshit excuse about it being hotter than he expected it to be. If North doubts the truth in what he says, she doesn’t address it.

 

“What I mean is,” She pauses, seeming to search for words and she looks frustrated. “He never wanted any of this.”

 

Markus says nothing.

 

“He’s taken all of us in… Given us all a family… He doesn’t have many rules, but the ones he does are there to  _ protect _ us… So, when I--” She catches herself and Markus notices the way her eyes dart to his before she’s suddenly very interested in the grain of the table. “So when that girl was killed… It wasn’t his fault, but he’s playing damage control anyway and now he’s got people trying to kill him for something he didn’t do.” 

 

“North-”

 

“Shut up.” She fixes him with a stare, huffs, and rolls her eyes when he frowns. “Look, all I’m saying is give him a chance. He seems to be under the impression that you’re a reasonable person that he can talk some sense into, for whatever reason, and that you’ll be willing to  _ help _ . I have no clue why he thinks coming in here every day to talk or play board games or whatever the fuck it is you two do is going to make a difference, but he just wants you to understand. He doesn’t have any ulterior motives, he’s an open book.” 

 

She doesn’t wait for a response. She grumbles something about him eating his breakfast and then leaves, slamming the door behind her so hard that the porthole rattles.

 

Markus stares after her, confused, coffee growing cold in his hand. 

 

***

 

“Was North the one that killed the politician’s daughter?”

 

The question seems to catch Simon off guard, hand halting over the chessboard, a new game in progress since Markus reset the board last night in his restlessness. His eyes flick to Markus’s before dropping to the piece he was reaching for and moving it before sinking back into his chair again.

 

“Why do you ask?” He’s on guard, a protective edge to his voice. North was right. He’s an open book. Markus is realizing how easily he can read him now. 

 

“Just something she said this morning,” He says, dismissively, eyeing the board. 

 

Simon is acting as though he hadn’t propositioned Markus last night, sitting in his chair with all the ease as ever, hands folded in his lap, legs crossed as always. Markus has been trying to pretend like nothing’s changed, but he noticed the extra button left undone on Simon’s shirt the second he walked in the room and knows he hasn’t been stealthy about stealing glances at the flashes of collarbone he gets when Simon moves. 

 

He’s not sure if his headache is from the lack of proper sleep last night or because he’s having to put Herculean effort into keeping from staring at Simon’s mouth when he speaks, or that he’s been avoiding Simon’s eyes like they burn him whenever he looks. 

 

Markus makes his move on the chessboard and then risks a glance at Simon. 

 

Simon’s lips are pressed together, a slight furrow in his brow, like he’s trying to uncover some hidden agenda in Markus’s questioning. Markus realizes with a start that he has the distinct and very specific urge to reach over and touch the crease between Simon’s eyebrows. He clenches his fist in the fabric of his pants, as though he were at risk of actually acting on the impulse. 

 

“I don’t care who did it,” Markus says, pointedly looking away from Simon and back to the board as he leans back in his chair again. “I’m just curious. You don’t have to tell me, it doesn’t really matter.”

 

“Yes,” Simon mutters and Markus looks up to see him, eyes down on his hands in his lap. He seems to be lost in thought for a moment. “Yes, it was North.”

 

“What happened?” 

 

Simon’s gaze lifts to Markus’s again and there’s a long moment of silence.

 

“It’s not really my place to say… But it was an accident.” Simon pauses, apparently weighing his options. He seems to think that North will understand and forgive him ( _ Unlikely, _ Markus finds himself thinking) because Simon continues. “What usually happens when a fledgling loses control.” 

 

He pauses for a moment, and Markus can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. 

 

“North hadn’t been with us very long when it happened. The… impulses are strong, in the beginning. Hard to resist. It’s easy to lose yourself in them. It’s something we all have to learn to control when we start out. Something we all have to fight.” He settles further into his chair, gaze focused somewhere behind Markus, not meeting his gaze. There’s a faraway look in his eyes for a moment and then he focuses on Markus again and gives him a small, sad smile. “Some of us lose.” 

 

Simon seems content that he’s said enough because he turns his attention back to the chessboard. After he moves his piece and looks at Markus again, there’s a much more teasing tilt to his lips and a knowing glint in his eye. 

 

“For a new vampire, it’s completely new and hard to know when to stop.” He says, casually. “Like I said last night… When both parties participate  _ willingly _ , it feels  _ good _ … It’s easy to lose yourself in, in the beginning.” 

 

Markus pretends that he doesn’t notice the purr in Simon’s voice is back, even though it sends a shiver racing down his spine. He makes a point of making a non-committal noise of understanding and focusing intently on the chessboard again. 

 

“Have you considered my offer?” 

 

“Jesus,” The word slips out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop it and he looks at Simon in exasperation. “Is this what we’re going to do? You’re going to bring it up every night and hope it convinces me to let you snack on me like some all you can eat buffet?”

 

Simon’s eyes flash with something hungry, and Markus can actually see his pupils dilate with want from across the table. A scalding heat settles in the pit of his stomach. 

 

“That depends…” Simon says, voice low and rumbling in a way that Markus can physically feel, despite the sweet smile on his face. “Is it working?”

 

Markus frowns and makes a point of not answering, face hot, choosing instead to focus on the game of chess between them again. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious, now. Simon’s voice  _ promised _ things and Markus  _ wanted _ , but to admit it would go against every instinct that had been instilled him since becoming a hunter. What Simon was asking him to do was… submit. To go against everything he’d known for years. 

 

But if that was such a bad thing, then why did he want it so badly? 

 

Markus groans suddenly, sitting back in his chair and scrubbing his hands over his face. 

 

“You’re making my job frustratingly difficult.” 

 

When he drops his hands from his face, Simon is grinning, fangs flashing. Markus feels heat on the back of his neck at the sight of them. 

 

“You didn’t expect me to make it easy, did you? Roll over,” There’s that hungry look in his eyes again, Simon leaning forward to put an elbow on the table, balancing his chin in one perfect hand. There’s a seductive lilt to the tone of his voice and Markus swallows. “Let you  _ stake _ me?” 

 

The innuendo is clear. Markus releases all of the air in his lungs in one quick gust, nails digging into the palms of his hands. Despite his better judgement, he leans forward to put his elbows on the table as well. There’s significantly less distance between them like this and Markus can’t help his eyes darting down to Simon’s lips, watching as his tongue swipes a quick line across his bottom lip.

 

“Do you make a habit of this?”

 

Simon has the nerve to feign a look of ignorance. 

 

“Habit of what?” He’s leaning further forward now, and Markus can feel his breath on his face. It smells sweet. 

 

“Of holding people captive and then trying to get into their pants.”

 

Simon smiles that sweet smile of his, eyes flashing with want again. 

 

“To be fair,” He says, leaning far enough forward now that Markus could bump their noses if he tilted his head just so. “You’ve never asked to leave.”

 

“Like you would have let me go.”

 

“Mmm.. Suppose we’ll never know now.” 

 

There’s a heavy moment of silence, during which they simply stare at each other, daring one another to be the first one to do something. Simon takes the challenge first and leans just enough to brush his lips against Markus’s, teasingly. Markus tries to follow him when he pulls away, but he leans back and then Markus can’t reach unless he stands.

 

“And for the record,” He mutters eyeing Markus over with a heavy gaze. “No, I don’t. On either charge… You’re a special circumstance.” 

 

Markus has had enough.

 

Just like last night, he stands fast enough that his chair topples to the floor behind him. Instead of moving to get away from Simon, however, now he surges forward, grabbing the collar of Simon’s shirt and hauling him forward so he can crash their lips together, hungry and desperate. There’s another crash, and Markus realizes, absentmindedly, that Simon has grabbed the edge of the table and tossed it to the side with ease so he can stand, grip both of Markus’s hips in his hands and march him backwards until his back collides with the nearest wall, pressing himself against Markus until there’s room for nothing but heat between them. 

 

Markus wraps both of his arms around Simon’s waist, gasping into the kiss when Simon pulls on his bottom lip and he feels the threatening dig of his fangs. Then, Simon is kissing across his jaw and down his throat, mouthing against his pulse in a way that has Markus dropping his head back against the wall with a groan. 

 

He opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a loud clang and a voice he knows isn’t Simon’s.

 

“Is everything okay? We heard a crash and--”

 

Simon moves so fast Markus feels dizzy, shielding Markus’s body with his own protectively… possessively? He’s not sure which but both possibilities have a heat curling in his stomach. He glances over Simon’s shoulder to see North standing in the open doorway, hip cocked, arms crossed, and looking as though she’s not sure if she should be annoyed or positively amused. 

 

Simon makes a noise, low and dangerous against Markus’s throat, and Markus realizes he’s  _ growling _ when he speaks. 

 

All he says is, “North,  _ get out _ .”

 

North has apparently decided to be amused because she smiles, rolls her eyes and waves a hand when she turns around to leave, saying something that sounds suspiciously like “have fun” in a singsong voice before the door shuts behind her. Markus hears the shuffling of feet out in the hallway and suspects she’s probably informed anyone on watch in the hallway to take a break and left with them. 

 

Simon wastes no time getting back to work, lifting his head to kiss Markus again, apparently intent on stealing the air right out of his lungs, even as he murmurs a quiet apology against his lips. And something about “nosy” and “always waiting for trouble”.

 

“Stop talking.” Is all Markus manages to grind out before he’s got a handful of Simon’s hair in his fist and he’s pulling. Simon groans, head tilting back, pressing Markus’s hips back into the wall with a grind down of his own, and Markus exhales a shaky breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Then, he’s leaning forward, running his tongue up the entire length of the perfect throat exposed to him and Simon’s hands are suddenly scrabbling all over his body, pulling and tugging at his shirt. 

 

“Off,” Is all he says, pressing the body against his back against the wall with a new kind of force and energy. Markus doesn’t need to be told twice and, even though he doesn’t want to let go of the soft hair in his fingers or pull away from the soft skin against his lips, he leans back and lifts his arm when Simon jerks at his shirt again, arching just enough to allow him to pull it off and toss it away. Markus can see him take a moment to admire his body, pressing the palm of one of his hands against his stomach. He shivers as he runs that hand up, spreading his fingers over his ribs, dropping his head back against the wall when he rubs the pad of his thumb over one of Markus’s nipples.

 

“Fuck…”

 

He hears Simon chuckle and feels a soft press of lips against his that move when Simon mutters an amused, “Sensitive.”

 

Markus frowns, breathless, but decides not to say anything, instead reaching to pull the hem of Simon’s shirt from the waistband of his pants and slide his hands underneath, marveling in the planes of Simon’s body beneath his palms.

 

Simon leans back far enough to start unbuttoning, one excruciatingly slow button at a time. Impatient, Markus shoves away from the wall, pleased when he seems to have taken Simon by surprise enough to spin him and shove him back against the wall in his place. He grabs the shirt at the bottom and pulls with all his strength. He’s pleased when he hears numerous buttons hit the floor and finally has Simon’s chest exposed and bare before him.

 

It’s Simon’s turn to frown.

 

“I liked that shirt,” He says, though his voice is breathless because Markus is pressing open mouthed kisses across his chest and biting his collarbone, shrugging the remains of his shirt off so it falls to the floor. Markus mutters something about buying a new one and shoves a knee between Simon’s legs, pleased when he feels a hardness against his thigh and feels Simon’s fingers digging into his shoulders. 

 

Simon grinds himself against Markus’s leg, breathless against the wall, rubbing against the hardness straining in Markus’s jeans. Markus makes a noise he wasn’t even aware he was capable of, burying both of his hands in Simon’s hair and kissing him hungrily again with another roll of his hips. 

 

Markus has never  _ wanted _ this desperately before. He’s rutting against Simon like a horny teenager and kissing him like he needs his mouth on his to breathe. Simon’s hands are everywhere, roaming all over his face, drifting down his chest. He feels Simon chuckle when he pinches Markus’s nipple and Markus all but convulses, his entire body shuddering with pleasure. 

 

“ _ Simon _ …” 

 

Again, Simon moves so fast, Markus’s head spins. He’s shoved back against the wall again, this time Simon’s hands pinning his hips against it so he can’t roll them against Simon’s body. He lets out a noise of frustration and opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) to find Simon staring down at him with such a hunger in his eyes that Markus is momentarily struck dumb.

 

Simon’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with lust, his hair is a mess, lips swollen and parted as he breathes in quick, heavy bursts of air. He stares at Markus for a moment before his eyes dart down and Markus realizes that Simon is watching his pulse leaping in his throat. The hunger in his eyes grows more urgent, and Markus has a startling moment of clarity.

 

If Simon wanted to, he could take it. He could drain him dry, and nothing Markus could do would be enough to put up any kind of fight against him. He feels the nag of his instinct to fight pulling at the back of his mind, forcing its way through the slog of lust clouding his mind. 

 

Simon could kill him. 

 

It’d be the easy thing to do. To get rid of a problem instead of trying to solve it with diplomacy. 

 

There’s a long, tense moment. Simon stares at Markus’s throat, Markus stares at Simon’s hunger and realizes they’re at a crossroads. Standing on a ledge with several different ways to fall, depending on what happens next. 

 

Then, Simon lifts his gaze, slowly, eyes slowly roving over the expanse of Markus’s neck, up to his jaw, across to his lips. He lingers there for a moment, leaning in to kiss Markus so sweetly that it almost doesn’t feel like it belongs in this moment. Then, he pulls away and pins Markus with a stare that makes his heart stop and then start all over again in double time. 

 

Simon  _ wants _ , Markus can see it in his eyes. He wants desperately, but… he’s asking permission. Without words, Simon is saying,  _ I want to show you _ and  _ please, let me _ . Markus isn’t sure why it makes him feel breathless. Simon had said, after all, that he wouldn’t take it. Not without Markus’s permission. 

 

“Markus…” Simon breathes his name and Markus exhales, knowing there’s only one choice he could possibly make here. Before he has the chance to talk himself out of it, he tilts his head back, turning his face to the side, eyes still locked on Simon’s, exposing his throat.

 

“Do it.” He says, and Simon’s fingers dig into his hips hard enough to bruise. 

 

“Are you sure?” Simon’s voice is laced with self-restraint. He clenches his jaw when Markus hesitates, beginning to pull away like that was all the answer he needed. Markus’s hands fly out to grab Simon by the back of the neck, fingers burying in the hair there. Simon’s eyes slide closed for a moment before he opens them and looks at Markus again.

 

“Yes,” Markus says quickly, and when Simon looks at him incredulously, Markus curls his fingers into the back of his neck, tilting his head back again. Simon exhales and Markus can feel it against his chest. “I want you to.” 

 

Simon still hesitates, watching Markus closely, like he’s waiting for him to admit that he’s changed his mind. What does he expect him to say?  _ No, thank you, I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want you to show me how good it feels to have you pull the blood from my veins and also I don’t want to fuck you senseless, thanks though _ ? Markus makes another noise of frustration and arches off the wall, pulling his chest as close to Simon’s as he can possibly get it.

 

“Simon,” He groans, leaning up to press a kiss to his throat, across his face, up to his ear. He exhales over the shell of it and delights when he feels Simon shiver from head to toe. “ _ Please _ .”

 

“ _ Fuck _ , Markus.” That seems to be all the encouragement Simon needs because the next thing knows, Simon’s chest is against his again, pressing him flush back against the wall again. 

 

He feels Simon’s hand on his jaw, turning his head with a tenderness that feels so out of place in this moment of desperation and urgency. Markus leans into the touch, tilting his head to the side, watching Simon out of the corner of his eye until Simon leans in and then Markus feels his tongue licking a path across his pulse, followed by a sharp, absolutely delicious scrape of his fangs. Markus shivers, exhaling a quiet curse, his arms moving to curl beneath Simon’s so he can dig his fingers into his bare shoulder blades. Simon growls against his throat and Markus can feel his edges fraying. 

 

“Simon,” Markus starts, tired of waiting, tired of the teasing.

 

“I know.” Simon interrupts, and that’s all the warning has before there’s a sharp pain in his throat that is quickly replaced by a warm  _ pulling _ sensation and Markus moans so brokenly he shocks himself. 

 

The warmth feels like it’s coursing through every single inch of his body and Markus digs his fingernails into Simon’s shoulder blades, dragging them down, leaving angry red marks in their wake. His cock twitches in his jeans when Simon growls again, curling his body over and against Markus’s, and then Markus is overcome with an overwhelming feeling of trust and security. He moans wantonly, attempting to roll his hips into Simon’s, pleased when there’s a groan against his throat to tell him he was successful. 

 

Markus feels like he’s moving through water when he reaches down to the waist of Simon’s pants, fumbling with the button and zipper with shaking fingers, his mind operating through a thick haze. He manages to get Simon’s pants undone, shoving them and his underwear down enough to free his cock, which he wastes no time wrapping a hand around. There’s a pause in the pulling sensation at his throat as Simon makes a noise that sounds like a whine against his pulse, exhaling through his nose. 

 

“Fuck, Simon, don’t stop.” Markus breathes, arching up to press his throat more firmly against Simon’s mouth and he feels fingers digging into the small of his back before the warmth returns and he arches against Simon, knees suddenly weak. 

 

Markus struggles with the fly of his own pants as he strokes Simon’s cock in slow, languid pulls, delighting in the way Simon’s hips roll against his hand and the occasional noise Simon makes against his collar, each of them going straight to his own dick, which he finally manages to free. He kicks feebly against his jeans and underwear when they fall down past his knees and then his ass is pressed bare against the wall. 

 

He reaches down and slips his free hand over the slope of Simon’s ass, Simon’s pants falling with the movement as well, but he doesn’t seem to be as desperate to get them off entirely, obviously preoccupied. 

 

Markus grips a handful of Simon’s ass in his palm, pressing his hips impossibly close and grinding his up, delighting in the friction against his cock when it rubs against Simon’s. 

 

Markus’s head is swimming, so filled with pleasure and heat and  _ want _ that he doesn’t know which way is up anymore. The hand on Simon’s ass dips lower, pressing against Simon’s entrance to tease and-

 

“Oh, my fuck-” Markus chokes when Simon moans wantonly against his throat, the feel of it vibrating through his entire body as Simon presses back against his exploring fingers. Markus actually sags against Simon then, lightheaded and weak and Simon tightens his arm around his waist, pulling him to his chest. 

 

Simon pulls away from his throat and Markus hears himself actually whine at the loss of contact, rolling his hips against Simon’s desperately as Simon runs a tongue over his throat, which is now tender and sore, in the most delightful way. When he pulls back to look Markus in the eye, Simon’s face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink and Markus can see a small smear of his own blood at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, he leans forward to lick it away, the metallic taste of his own blood giving him just enough of a rush to clear some of the fog from his mind. 

 

Simon exhales, making a desperate noise when Markus strokes him again, leaning down to kiss him hungrily, and Markus can taste himself again when Simon rolls his tongue against his. He jolts, groaning against Simon’s lips. The next thing he knows, his world is spinning because Simon pulls him from the wall, turns him, and walks him backwards until his legs collide with the bed. Markus, drunk from the loss of blood, stumbles and falls back onto the bed easily, heavy and lethargic. 

 

Simon bends and seems to retrieve something from beneath the mattress of the bed. Markus isn’t sure what it is until he sees a bottle of lube hit the bed next to his shoulder and is surprised by how positively  _ wrecked _ he sounds when he laughs.

 

“You had lube hidden under the bed?”

 

Simon’s lips curl into that small, gentle smile again and, while there’s still an urgency in their motions when Simon crawls on bed, hands on Markus’s knees to push his thighs apart so he can settle between them, the energy of the room is much less desperate. It doesn’t feel like a rubber band pulled too taught, ready to snap at any moment. Its gentler, now. Markus doesn’t think he minds it. Decides he doesn’t when his hands settle against the small of Simon’s back and Simon hums a noise of approval at the way his fingers press against his ass.

 

“You try living in a ship full of insatiable vampires,” Simon murmurs, leaning down to nose sweetly at Markus’s jaw, kissing down his throat. Markus hums a quiet noise of pleasure when his lips pass over the bite on his throat again, his body shivering. “Trust me, it’s better just being prepared everywhere. Otherwise, you end up walking in on people fucking in the bathrooms one too many times.” 

 

Markus laughs again and Simon makes an affectionate noise against his jaw, though it’s strange in comparison with the roll of his hips against Markus’s, which drags a ragged moan from the throat he’s nibbling on. Markus’s focus zeros in on the friction of their dicks against each other’s stomachs when Simon rolls his hips again. He lifts his face and looks Markus in the eye with another devious grind of his hips and a devilish smirk and Markus thumps his head back against the mattress with a groan. 

 

“Are you-  _ fuck _ …” Markus’s words die in his throat when he chokes, hands flying to grip Simon’s waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh there because Simon wraps a hand around his cock and  _ squeezes _ . Simon makes a pleased noise, like a cat with prey caught in its paws.

 

“You were saying?” Markus opens his eyes and frowns at the delighed look on Simon’s face. 

 

He reaches up to grip the back of Simon’s neck again, dragging him down so he can press his lips to Simon’s ear again. Markus can feel the shiver race down Simon’s spine under his fingers.

 

“Are you going to play around all night or get to it and  _ fuck me _ ?” 

 

Simon makes a noise that goes straight to Markus’s dick and then he hears the sound of the lube bottle popping open, closed, and then hitting the floor somewhere in the room. 

 

Markus tilts his head, ignoring the ache in his throat when Simon leans down to drag his teeth down the untouched side of his neck, before settling on his collar bone, where he sets to working a mark into the skin there. Then, his fingers are against Markus’s ass, and Markus tenses when he feels a finger pressing against the ring of muscles. Simon leans up to nip his earlobe.

 

“Relax,” He breathes, and Markus digs his fingers into Simon’s skin. Simon makes a simpering noise, and brushes his lips over Markus’s cheek, his free hand moving to wrap around Markus’s cock, pulling slow languid strokes and Markus moans, long and low. “I’ve got you. Relax.” 

 

Markus tries his best to do as he’s told, exhaling a long breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, and forcing his tense muscles to melt back into the sheets, focusing on the way Simon’s fingers around his dick feel. Before he knows it, Simon is three knuckles deep with two fingers, working in a third and Markus is squirming against him, torn between rocking up against Simon’s hand stroking far too slow and loose to really take him anywhere past desperate and pressing back against the fingers in his ass. 

 

Then, Simon twists his wrist and curls his fingers  _ just so _ and Markus jerks, choking on a gasp, hands flying to twist in the sheets, gripping them so tight he thinks they might tear. 

 

“Holy  _ fuck _ ,” He says, and he bites his lip so hard it bleeds. Simon is quick to lean down and lick the blood away with a groan. 

 

“Again?” He whispers against Markus’s lips and Markus nods eagerly, already rolling his hips in anticipation. 

 

“ _ Yes _ .”

 

Simon complies easily, quirking his fingers again just as he presses his thumb against the slit of Markus’s cock, smearing the precum there. Markus arches like he’s trying to break his spine in two, moaning wantonly. 

 

“ _ Simon _ ,” He hears Simon groan and the sound courses through him, rolling across his nerve endings like thunder during a storm at sea. He opens his eyes and reaches up with one hand to tangle his fingers in Simon’s hair, delighting in how positively fucked Simon looks, despite the fact that Markus is the one with three fingers in his ass. “Fuck me.”

 

Simon doesn’t have to be told twice. 

 

He pulls his fingers out of Markus with more care and patience than Markus knows he would be able to exhibit and Markus groans at the loss, attempting to roll his hips to find something to replace it with. Simon grips his knees, pressing them up and apart. He meets Markus’s gaze and Markus feels the weight of his stare again, settled like a blanket over his chest, heavy and warm. Then, Simon is pressing in, and the stretch is slow and delicious and Markus presses his head back into the mattress with a groan so long his voice breaks in the middle. 

 

Simon releases his knees and Markus promptly hooks his legs around Simon’s waist, locking his ankles and rolling his hips without warning. Simon curses and collapses, managing to catch himself on his elbows before he crushes Markus into the mattress, though Markus doubts he’d mind it much if he did. He’s hungry for the closeness, the feel of Simon’s body moving against his. Markus tugs Simon’s hair, moaning something filthy and needy into Simon’s ear about  _ moving already _ , and that’s all the instruction he needs. 

 

Simon rolls his hips once, twice, and then he’s fucking Markus in earnest, face buried in Markus’s throat as Markus drags his fingers down Simon’s back, down his arms, grips his ass, pulls desperately at the sheets, tugs his fingers through Simon’s hair, moaning his encouragement in Simon’s ear, gasping words of praise like prayers to a god he doesn’t believe in. 

 

Markus is on fire. His skin burns wherever Simon touches him, his lungs burn with each desperate pull, like he’s breathing in superheated air that’s threatening to scorch him from the inside out. For all he knows, he might be. There’s a coil winding itself tight in the pit of his stomach, threatening to snap any moment. He can feel his thighs and arms shaking, muscles burning like the rest of his body. 

 

“Si-...  _ Fuck _ , Simon, I’m-” Markus’s words die in his throat with a particularly brutal thrust that drives the air from his lungs. Simon is groaning in his ear-- praise that makes Markus bristle with pride. Then, his lips are on Markus’s throat again, kissing the pristine, unbroken skin opposite the bite from earlier. Markus can feel the sharp pull of his fangs, testing the give of his skin without actually breaking the surface. 

 

He stutters a moan and arches his throat up, an invitation. 

 

_ Do it again.  _

 

The noise Simon makes is a filthy snarl that feels like an electric pulse, shocking each and every single one of Markus’s nerve endings until they’re practically fried. He lets out a moan that borders on a sob and he’s suddenly overstimulated and desperate for release. 

 

Markus reaches down to touch himself, but his hands are snatched and pinned to the mattress above his head in a vice grip. 

 

“I’m going to do it,” Simon groans against Markus’s collar and his voice is so low and filthy that Markus’s cock twitches against his stomach and he moans hysterically. “I’m going to make you come.” 

 

“Then do it,” Markus begs, voice raw and broken. Then Simon rolls his hips so he’s fully sheathed in Markus’s ass and he  _ grinds _ and Markus feels so full he’s certain he might burst. “ _ Please _ , Simon.” 

 

There’s a wonderful pressure around his cock then, Simon still holding his hands to the mattress in one of his, fingers threaded together, as his other finally gives Markus the attention he needs.

 

Markus pants and gasps, moaning Simon’s name and nonsense and praise, and he can feel Simon’s hips stuttering against his ass. The coil in his stomach winds and winds and winds and every muscle in his body tenses, preparing for the wave to crash over him. 

 

Markus feels a tongue against his pulse, and then teeth, and that’s all the warning he gets before Simon sinks his fangs into his throat again, and the warmth blooms everywhere, all at once and then he jerks and writhes and then he sees white, back arched and head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream because his voice has finally given out on him. 

 

Simon is growling against his throat again, and the sounds vibrate through him and make him whimper as he comes down from his high. Markus can feel Simon panting through his nose against his neck as he tenses above him, arms shaking with restraint, and then he spills inside of Markus with a groan that makes him dizzy. 

 

They lay, exhausted and spent for what feels like a century, the only movement from either of them being the rise and fall of their chests as they gasp for air and Simon’s exhausted extraction of his teeth from Markus’s throat, swiping a tongue lazily over the punctures there that match the set on the other side. Markus shivers beneath him, groaning with exhaustion and Simon smiles.

 

There’s a long, comfortable silence, during which time, Markus waits for his brain to catch up. He’s groggy and he feels drunk, but Simon is pressing soft kisses to his jaw, even as he slowly pulls out of Markus’s pliant body, gathers him into his arms and rolls onto his back, Markus pressed against his chest. 

 

He can feel Simon’s hands roving the expanse of his back, a gentle weight pressing soothing thumbs into his shoulders, his ribs, his spine. Slowly, Markus comes back to life. He squirms, albeit weakly, to readjust the way he lays pressed against Simon so he can nose at Simon’s jaw. 

 

“You okay?” Simon asks him, voice soft, gentle, concerned. 

 

How could anyone, Markus wonders, worry that he’s a beast planning to massacre an entire city for revenge? The idea seems laughable now, as he lays here in Simon’s arms, being slowly brought down from the highest highs he thinks he’s ever experienced with soft caresses and gentle tones. 

 

“Markus?” 

 

He hums in response, knowing Simon is waiting for an answer. Markus swallows, his throat raw, licks his lips and speaks.

 

“Never better.” He sounds completely fucked out, voice raspy and gravelly and he hears Simon chuckle from beneath him, feels his fingers gently brushing against one of the marks on his throat, his head tilting of its own accord when he hears Simon make a proud noise. 

 

Simon presses a kiss to that mark, feather soft, and Markus decides, just then--

 

He supposes he can see Simon’s side, can understand Simon’s desperation for a truce and an understanding. Maybe he’ll give this negotiation thing a try after all.

  
Simon is, after all, very _ persuasive _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> This uhh... got real long. I haven't written anything for actual ~consumption~ for a looooong time, so be gentle lol. Hopefully y'all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it??
> 
> Thank you to @livelovesimon for beta-ing + the inspiration and keeping me hyped up while I wrote this over the course of literally 11 straight hours. 
> 
> Follow me on Twitter @fingersins


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